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Mea Maxima Culpa
I suppose I don’t know where to start. When I was a child, my parents raised me a Catholic. I went to Church on Sunday, attended Catholic School, read my Catechism, took part in “the sacraments” and tried to believe my life could be just like the stories in our Faith and Freedom Readers. At one point in my life as a Catholic, I figured I wanted to be a nun. I might have been about eight years old. I wasn’t inspired by any of the nuns at the school I attended in the fifties. Far from it. Those women may have looked serene, and they certainly talked the talk about kindness and benevolence, but I can’t remember a single time when any of them demonstrated any of that towards the children in their classes. No, I wanted to be a nun—for about a month—because my uncle (who was a missionary with the Scarboro Foreign Missions) spoke so passionately of the good work the nuns did in his remote, Third World parish. Maybe they weren’t as, obviously, frustrated with life as the teaching sisters at the school I attended as a child. The day Mother Cecily berated and strapped my oldest sister, for some minor offence, was the day I tossed my tea towel wimple onto the “bad idea” pile. One unkind Catholic experience after another led me to believe life isn’t as easy as hiding behind a habit or a cassock. During my years as a Catholic kid, I played along, though. My parents, both victims of violent Catholic School learning, were devoted to their religion. They expected devotion and respect for the Church and its teachings, from their children. I played along.
But enough about me. I want to address my feelings about people who exploit the naive. Very recently, when I read about how Jean Vanier (Founder of L’Arche International) had used his position and power to take advantage of women, I can’t really say I was shocked. People on a throne, such as Vanier was, have been known to prey upon the vulnerable. Like many others in lofty perches, Vanier groomed those victims by becoming a father figure to them, offering them his soft shoulder, his spiritual guidance and his firm hand to lead them. Unfortunately, for some of the women, he was leading them into his lair of deceit and abuse. According to one of the unnamed victims, Vanier once said to her, “This is not us, this is Mary and Jesus. You are chosen, you are special, this is secret”. Seriously, that is some twisted, messed-up garbage in the name of Jesus and Mary. Who the H E double crucifixes and haloes did Jean Vanier think he was? Jesus? God? Infallible? The women who were abused and came forward described “significant barriers to raising concerns about the abuse, given Vanier’s ‘charismatic personality’ and his dominant position with L’Arche.”
It’s the old game of “who are you going to believe”. In Vanier’s case, the public would look at those women and suggest there might be another reason for them to make up such a “whopper”. We’ve heard it all before, haven’t we? The victims were afraid they wouldn’t be believed. The victims may have been embarrassed because they were sure someone would say they had it coming or they asked for it. The victims may have mistaken the abusive relationship for a loving relationship. Jean Vanier was a popular man. In some circles Vanier was considered a saint, a man of God who had created a charity to protect the most vulnerable of society. My next question is, “He abused women who worked within the organization. Did he abuse those for whom the organization was created?”
A friend, as shocked as I am about this matter, referred to Vanier’s abuse as “even the best among us” do these things. If Vanier was one of “the best among us”, I will settle for being less than his brand of excellence.
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